Garlic

When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan contadino—and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.

Flip the script on a winter vegetable that's usually stewed: Collards are great when briefly sautéed.

You'll love this spiced alternaburger with its fresh finishes; kids will love the handheld dinner.

Though 4 pounds of brisket may seem like a lot, remember that this cut of meat loses some weight in cooking; one advantage of leaner first-cut brisket is that there's less shrinkage, but remember you'll pay more for the privilege.

Like some sort of drug dealer, Joe (aka the big boss) has been known to keep a small plastic bag of this addictive Mexican spice rub in his glove box. And indeed, it's never a bad thing to have on hand. Although the recipe has a few steps to it, it's well worth the effort. At the restaurant, we use it to season everything from corn on the cob to chicken to our Spring booty taco. When cooking with it, just beware that it's quite salty. Also, it keeps for a long time, which means that you may want to make a double batch.

We're now obsessed with this snail-shaped pasta (which is made from scratch at Tosca).

Rich, buttery parmesan and pine nuts balance out the bitter flavor that is characteristic of broccoli rabe. Serve this classic Italian side dish with steak Florentine or porchetta, or try it in a sandwich if you have leftovers.

If you can't find flat runner beans, use any color snap, wax, or French beans and reduce the cooking time.

Make sure you keep your grill at a steady medium-level heat; if it's too hot, the chicken will char without cooking through.

If you love dipping bread into tomato soup, you’ll love this rustic Italian dish, known as pappa al pomodoro.

There's no substitute for minty sweet perilla (a.k.a. sesame leaf); seek it out at Asian markets.

Briefly cooking the tomatoes is key–the finished sauce should still be very fresh-tasting.

Mild rice vinegar and a fair amount of sugar yield a less acidic brine and a bright-tasting pickle.

This sauce goes with pretty much any grilled meat; stir leftovers into yogurt to make a dip.

Blitzing your marinade in a food processor will give you the most flavor with the least effort. This thick paste thins into a vibrant steak sauce as the meat cooks.